Memories
by RedBoss
Summary: Russia enjoys a quiet cigarette and reminisces about the past.


Russia left the confrence hall. It was the middle of the G20 meeting and they decided to take a break. As each nation went about their seperate ways, Russia decided to go outside.

He stood outside the big building and took out a packet of cigarettes. It was hard not to smoke when your country was in the top ten of cigarette consumption. He tried not to give in to his urges around the other nations. They all thought he had quit. Ivan fished around his various pockets in search for a packet of matches or a lighter. Finally, he found some matches. He struck one and cursed in that harsh language of his as the flame died quickly. He tried a second time and was able to bring the flame to the cigarette clenched tightly in his teeth.

Smoking wasn't just an addiction it was something he sincerely enjoyed doing. As he took a drag and let the smoke fill his lungs a memory settled in his head. This was always the case. Each cigarette brought a memory to him. Some pleasant, some not. But it didn't matter because each cigarette reminded him of his old self. He closed his eyes.

This memory wasn't too old.

It was winter. Ivan was standing on a snowy field. The time was World War ||. The beginning of the end.

It was right after the battle of Stalingrad. The Russian soldiers had somehow managed to push back the Nazi's from the 3/4 occupied city. So, Ivan stood, the moon bright and casting an eery glow over the landscape giving it a sinister mood. It was the battlefield. The snow was bloody and lifeless bodies littered across the field. There was no life here, except for a few crows pecking away at the dead.

Most people would think this is a horrible memory, but indeed, it was not.

Ivan was staring in the direction the enemy had retreated. A cigarette was in his mouth , accompanied by a small, somewhat sad, smile. It wasn't one of his nice, daily smiles,this was real. There was blood on his clothes and in his hand was an AK-47. Smoke from his cigarette pooled around him, intermingling with his condensed breath.

He was tired. Oh God was he tired. Stalin (the determined bastard that he was) ordered any man able to hold a gun to be sent to the frontlines. So Ivan had to personally take care of Germany.

But now that he won, he couldn't help but bathe in the proudness and the feeling of glorious victory for his country. Oh how he enjoyed the feeling of earned power.

Ivan opened his eyes. Anyone watching him ( even the most unobservant) would have noted the drastic change of expression on his face. His face shifted into one that was very similiar to the one in the memory.

Russia heard England and France arguing about something as they passed the main entrance to get to the confrence hall. That meant break was over.

Ivan's expression changed back to normal as he stubbed out his ciarette and headed inside the building.

After another pointless meeting everyone headed home. These meetings were seriously getting on Russia's nerves.

Russia stared at the landscape of Kamchatka. And what a beautiful landscape it was, the dwelling place of General Winter. How could something so sinister be so beautiful, he often wondered. There was something charming about knowing that no human has ever stepped foot in this people believed he disliked winter, but this was not true. At least it wasn't always raining, like England.

He enjoyed his little trips across the land but they always brought back feelings. As Ivan stared at the mountains of Kamchatka, he thought back to the times when he was Great. The most powerful nation in the world. These toughts sometimes brought tears to his eyes. He would think, I was great before I can do it now! But something would tug at his soul and the feeling of determination would be replaced by anger.

It was true he wanted friends, but most of all he wanted _respect_. The other nations feared him and in even the most twisted cases, fear meant respect. But they all feared him for the wrong reasons.

An hour had passed and Ivan decided it was time to go home.

Ivan went home feeling depressed and angry, but that was nothing a few bottles of vodka couldn't was home. He asked Ivan if he wanted anything but Ivan just told him : " You can go home Latvia, I'm not in the mood." Latvia was slightly worried because Russia has been saying that to him more often, but was not going to pass an opportunity to go home. Besides,from what he knew, Russia was probably going to drink himself into angry oblivion and pass out.

Ivan did not like drinking alone. They said you never should. But there was no one to share a drink with. So he did exactly what Latvia thought he would do. That night he dreamed of conquest and victory.


End file.
